Eleven Days
by kinky mama
Summary: Eleven days of hell. Days worse than any encountered on the battlefield. But Jack Mitchell refuses to give in or give up. Rated T for language.


Day One

Mitchell was startled awake when he felt something laying across his back.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Private Mitchell, I was trying not to wake you, but wanted to try and make you more comfortable", a pretty young nurse whispered, and she finished placing a hospital blanket around his shoulders.

Mitchell just smiled faintly and nodded, and quietly responded "Thank you ma'am, I appreciate it."

Smiling back and bobbing her head at him, the nurse turned and quietly left the room, Mitchell watching her go. He saw the booted feet of soldiers milling around outside the room from under the curtain screen, but ignored them. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself and turned back to the bed.

The quiet beeping and puffing of his captain's life support machines were the only sounds in the room now. If it wasn't for the pale man in bed with a tube in his throat and the various I.V. lines snaking out of him, it would almost seem peaceful.

Mitchell used his fake hand to rub his eyes hard, his real hand grasped around his captain's. He laid his head back down on the edge of the bed, staring at the man occupying it, and drifted back to a very unsettled sleep.

Day Two

The beeping was almost hypnotizing. He slouched in his chair, staring at, but not seeing, the tray from the hospital cafeteria that some nurse had left for him, still full of cold, untouched food. Instead of seeing food, he saw bright flashes, falling bodies, blood. His captain. His friend.

Somewhere in his subconscious he knows various members of their squad have been in, but he hasn't reacted to their presence.

He closes his eyes, but all he sees is death. He replays it over and over. And over. And over. He sucks in a shuddering breath, opening his eyes and taking in his friend's prone body. He will keep his vigil.

Day Three

He is running, but he feels like he's running through quicksand. All around him men are falling, some being blown apart. The sounds are muffled. If he could just run faster, he could get there in time. He could get to him in time. If he could just run faster. He knows he's yelling, but he sounds like he's trying to yell under water. His captain turns to him, but it's too late. He hasn't run fast enough. He falls to his knees, screaming his captain's name. His breath is sucked from his lungs as he is blown backward.

Once again he is startled awake, this time by a doctor shaking his shoulder.

"Son, wake up! Wake up, it's ok. You're having a nightmare."

He sits up with a jerk, eyes unfocused, shaking, sweating. He finally focuses his eyes on an older man, grey hair, beard. He looks like some country doctor. His eyes are kind, he notices that right away, and the doctor holds his gaze.

The doctor speaks again. "Son, you're safe, so is your captain. You both are safe." The doctor has a hand on each shoulder, and is crouched in front of him. He waits until he feels the situation has calmed.

Mitchell runs his hands through his hair and down the sides of his face. He nods at the kind doctor, silently thanking him. The doctor offers him a small smile and says "Please, try to eat something or at least drink some water. You have to keep your strength up. Do it for him," he says, as he nods his head towards the bed.

Mitchell nods again, "OK", he says quietly.

As the doctor leaves, he notices that someone has replaced yet another cold, untouched tray of food with a fresh one and two bottles of cold water. He drinks one bottle down greedily, saves the second one. The idea of eating while his captain lays there makes his stomach turn, but he forces himself to eat a bread roll.

Day 4

The blaring alarm coming from the machines scares the hell out of him. He jumps up out of his chair, panic flowing through him as medical personnel rush in. He is pushed to the back, out of the way.

He begins to get tunnel vision. He sees his captain being moved around the bed, medics barking out orders. He barely registers shouts of 'crashing', 'cardiac arrest', 'coding'. He sees lights blinking on various monitors, lines bouncing up and down, going flat, then bouncing again. It seems like hours, but in fact was probably only minutes of the medics saving his captain's life once again. They slowly leave the room as the situation seems to right itself.

Mitchell is visibly shaking, adrenaline pouring through him at what has just happened. He had fallen asleep, and this had happened. He would not let that happen again, he vowed.

He is still standing in the back of the room when a nurse comes in and sees him. She gently coaxes him back to his chair, trying to sooth him by telling him everything is ok now. He just stares at her, eyes brimming. She runs hers hand through his bangs, and down to cup his cheek, telling him everything is ok again, and the tears break free, silently.

Day 5

The doctors changed the bandages today. The right arm is a mangled mess. They say it will be functional again with hard work, if he survives. He can only hope. His captain needs to be intact. His torso is a mass of gashes, holes. Almost all of his ribs have been broken. His legs are broken. Somehow his spine has been spared. Thank fucking god. If they can get the swelling in his skull to go down more, they feel he'll recover. If nothing else goes wrong at least.

He's tired. But he refuses to sleep, just in case. He holds his friend's hand. He begins to talk to him quietly. He remembers once hearing about how people in a coma could hear you. He doesn't know if he believes it or not, but what the hell.

He doesn't really know what to say. Well, honestly he does, but can't quite bring himself to say it.

He tells him about his family. His dad who was a Marine, which was why he joined the corps. About some of the stupid things he used to do as a kid. Inane things. His heart hurts. He keeps talking, partly to keep himself awake, partly in case he really can hear in his sleep.

Day 6

His captain crashed again early this morning. Once again his heart tried to give up, and once again his captain said 'fuck you' and fought back. But Mitchell was there for him. Even when pushed to the back of the room, he was there quietly telling his captain to fucking fight and not be a pansy ass git.

It was only after the captain was stabilized and the room cleared that he broke down at the side of the bed, holding onto his captain's hand. Praying to any god out there who would listen. He couldn't hold it in any longer and quietly sobbed into the bedding. He finally got it out of his system, taking in long shuddering breaths, trying to calm himself down, and found himself dosing off. He tried to fight it, but lost the battle. Once he was asleep, the nurse who stood outside the room, quietly crying, a hand over her mouth as she witnessed the heart-breaking scene, wiped her face and came in, making his chair pop out in the, albeit not entirely comfortable, bed, and laid a blanket over him. She quietly said a prayer to her god, asking for this young man to find some peace, and for his comrade to heal.

Day 7

"I know you probably don't want to hear about my childhood anymore hunh. You're probably screaming in your mind for me to shut the fuck up. That you don't gives a rat's ass about any of it, and to just give you some peace and quiet.

But I'll make you a deal. If you wake up, I'll stop talking, ok? I promise. I just need you to wake up. Please."

Day 8

"Every time I fail at staying awake for you and doze off, I have the dream. I just can't get to you fast enough. I can't take it anymore, replaying it over and over again. I failed you."

"I'm so sorry Cap'n. I'm so fucking sorry. I should've run faster."

Day 9

"Please, please just wake up for me ok? I need you back old man. I, I don't know what to do. I mean, you're my best friend, my brother. I love you man, so please, wake up. I owe you so much, taking me under your wing, training me to be the soldier I am today. I miss having you around, barking at me, or calling me stupid names, teasing me. I feel empty without you man. I know that sounds probably gay or something. I dunno.

Just come back to me. Please."

Day 10

An alarm beeped again, immediately throwing Mitchell up out of his chair. 'Oh god, what now!' He was panicked, no one was rushing in. He ran out into the hallway ready to yell for help when an older nurse fast walked into the room.

"What's wrong, what's happening?"

The nurse reached over the bed, turning off the beeping. "It's ok son, this is actually a good alarm. It's telling me your friend here is fighting his breathing tube."

Mitchell was still worried. "What the hell does that mean? Is he not able to breathe?"

The nurse looked over her shoulder at him while unhooking something. "No, it means he's trying to breathe on his own, and doesn't need the tube anymore. We're going to remove it". With that another nurse came in gloved and with a tray of instruments. They turned off the ventilator, the sounds of the breathing stopping, and making Mitchell nervous. The nurse with the gloves on began to unstrap the tube from around the neck and throat, and then suddenly grabbed the front piece and began to pull what seemed like miles of tubing from the lungs. The captain began coughing and rasping, the first nurse listening to his lungs with her stethoscope. The other nurse was cleaning off his face. The first nurse nodded and said, "his lungs sound good, and breathing sounds are normal. This is very good news!"

The two nurses removed all of the tubing, made sure the captain was clean and had a regular nasal cannula for extra oxygen, and then left.

Mitchell let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He ran his hands through his hair again and sat back down.

"You fucker, you scared the shit out of me".

Day 11

Mitchell had his head on the side of the bed, and was once again holding his captain's hand. It was early morning, the sun still hadn't come up. It had been a very uneventful night, for which he was grateful. He was beginning to doze when he felt his hand being squeezed lightly. He popped his head up, not sure he actually felt it or imagined it.

"Cap'n?"

Nothing.

"Gideon?"

A faint squeeze.

'Holy shit' he thought. He kept calling his name, and squeezing his hand back, hoping for a response. But nothing came. But he was still elated, as he sat back into his chair, laying his head back down.

Four hours later, a raspy, wet-sounding cough woke Mitchell up. Blinking the sleep from his eyes he sat up. He looked over and saw Gideon moving his head slightly, eyes still closed. It looked like he was fighting his sleep. Mitchell grabbed his hand, putting his other hand on his captain's face.

"Come on old man, you can do it. Open your eyes."

Gideon coughed again, but his eyes were still shut.

"Come on you fucker, open your damn eyes!"

He watched his face, he could tell his captain was fighting to open his eyes. He coughed again, and then moaned slightly. Suddenly Gideon squeezed forcefully on Mitchell's hand.

"That's it, you got it. Open your eyes. Wake up for me!"

It took several minutes, but at last Mitchell was rewarded with two blue eyes, opened halfway and eventually focused on his face.

Breathing heavily, eyes still only opened halfway, Gideon tried to speak. He only made a raspy sound.

He swallowed, and tried again, still looking at Mitchell.

"I'll never leave you mate".


End file.
